Give me the first 500 words of your story for a critique

[Whispersecret]

Attention: This used to be the place where you would get your first 500 words critiqued by me. Because I was having a great deal of trouble finding the people who had signed up among the commentary, I have divided the thread into two.

This thread: Sign up here for the 500 Word Critiques is where you "get in line" and cut and paste your 500 words.

This thread:The "500 Word" Critiques and Discussion is where you will find the actual critiques and the subsequent dialogue between me and the writers.

I have cut and pasted all the critiques and comments from here to the new thread, with the exception of 80niner's additional editing efforts which can still be found here.

Please do not add to this thread anymore. Thank you for your understanding. I hope this adjustment will work.

 

[ehlanna]

I'll jump up for it.

Not sure if it is a good idea or not honestly. Doesn't even seem to get into the sex part of the story. *grinz* but I will get critism on the beginning

Kat read the letter yet again: "Kat, Here is your plane ticket. I know it is a long trip and I didn't want you to get bored so I thought it would be a good idea to send along some commands and some stories. The clothes that I sent along with the plane ticket are the ONLY things you will wear. Every hour I want you to read a story and masturbate to it. Do not cum though or I will be very unhappy! Yours truly, Jesse."
When she had received the package and read the letter she was turned on by the commanding presence of it. Now sitting on the plane, she was mortified there was only one seat separated herself and a man. She wondered to herself, "Can I do this? Can I really sit next to this man and rub my pussy? I have no choice. I gave my word I would obey."
The next time the stewardess came by she asked for a blanket and pillow. Covering herself with the blanket she sat back and flipped through the stories noticing they were printed from an internet site but were well chosen with her tastes in mind. Starting in on the first story it didn't take her long to find that she could touch herself. Her hand had drifted to her thigh. Kat brushed her hand over her thighs barely touching the bottom of her skirt just teasing. She looked good and she knew it but she was still embarrassed to commit herself to touching her private areas.
She glanced over to the man sitting next to her. From some polite talking they had done earlier while the flight was first starting she knew he was from Australia and going back home. He had an air of confidence about him that made up for his slightly plain looks. Kat noticed that he was asleep and decided it was a good time to masturbate. His longish brown hair kept attracting her attention though. It was that very dark colour that she liked and it looked so soft. Her hands ached to touch it and feel if it was as soft as it looked. "What is wrong with me? First I am worried about sitting next to a man and masturbating now I am thinking about bringing his attention to me." Kat decided to mind her own business and finish the story. She was immensely turned on by the end of the story and was rubbing her clit slowly trying to tease herself without making herself cum. After a few minutes she finally gave in to the fatigue that had been pulling at her since the plane left two hours before. The stories and the letter laid on her blanket that covered her.

 

[Route66Girl]

Me, me, me!

A chance for a critique from Whispersecret!? Where do i sign up?
Oh yeah... here

Thanks for the offer, Whisper! Here's a bit of what I've been working on lately. This is the second draft. I'm sure there will be a third, fourth, etc.

The erotic parts don't start until after the first 500 words. The following paragraphs are a prelude to the sexy stuff.





Teenagers hate their hometowns. They look around and all they want is what’s not there.

“This town is so lame.”

I must have uttered those words at least a hundred times as I was growing up in Kent River. It was a typical small town. Not much happened there.

Even the surrounding countryside seemed dull, as there was nothing but farmland. And only miles of lava rock fields and barren hills hemmed in those acres of potato farms.

It took a long time to really appreciate where I came from. I was twenty-three years old the early summer morning that it finally dawned on me how beautiful that country really is.

I was naked, the smell of sex still clinging to me. Propped up on my elbows, I lay back halfway on a scratchy wool blanket that had proven to be less comfortable than the ground we’d thrown it down on. Didn’t matter. I loved every sensation. I burrowed my feet into the soft dirt, wriggling my toes. Felt good. The smell of the earth flooded my senses, and the only sound that broke the silence was the soft chirping of a few nearby crickets.

It was still dark enough that stars filled most of the sky, but it must have been around four in the morning. The eastern horizon was taking on the telltale bluish glow of dawn.

About fifteen feet away from me, leaning up against his Harley, was Cole Jones. He was only a year or two older than I, but always had the demeanor of someone older than his years, even when I first knew him at age twelve. It’s difficult to say exactly why he seemed older. Maybe it was his voice, which was so low and gravelly… edgy. Or maybe it was his hair, at the time shoulder-length, which was so shock-blond that it almost looked white. Perhaps it was his eyes- a light, ice blue with a haunted glint in them that told you they’d seen far too much for someone so young.

Cole had never been tall, nor was he bulky. But his naked, wiry frame made an impressive silhouette against the sky that early morning. It was too dark yet to see his face at that distance - only the burning tip of a cigarette periodically lit up his features when he took a drag.

He leaned against the motorcycle in silence. I was quiet as well.

I don’t remember now, six years later, how that night started out. Had we gone out to dinner? Was that the day we’d taken his nephew and my niece out to see The Lion King? I remember that it was the first time I’d seen him in a long time. I’d just come back from… which place? Utah? Oregon? Wyoming?

I suppose it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that every time I’ve had one chapter in my life end and another begin, Cole Jones was there, suspended in limbo along with me.

That night, I’d clung fast to him as he drove out along the country roads, both of us thinking we knew how the night would end.

I don’t know what time it was when he pulled over and we stepped off the bike. I just remember how beautiful the night seemed, how peaceful it felt. I don’t remember, either, if we even spoke before he kissed me.





And there it is! I think that's about 500 words, maybe a little over. I look forward to hearing what you think of it.

 

[Whispersecret]

Re: I'll jump up for it.

Kat read the letter yet again: "Kat, Here is your plane ticket. I know it is a long trip and I didn't want you to get bored so I thought it would be a good idea to send along some commands and some stories. The clothes that I sent along with the plane ticket are the ONLY things you will wear. Every hour I want you to read a story and masturbate to it. Do not cum though or I will be very unhappy! Yours truly, Jesse."
When she had received the package and read the letter she was turned on by the commanding presence of it. Now sitting on the plane, she was mortified there was only one seat separated herself and a man. She wondered to herself, "Can I do this? Can I really sit next to this man and rub my pussy? I have no choice. I gave my word I would obey."
The next time the stewardess came by she asked for a blanket and pillow. Covering herself with the blanket she sat back and flipped through the stories noticing they were printed from an internet site but were well chosen with her tastes in mind. Starting in on the first story it didn't take her long to find that she could touch herself. Her hand had drifted to her thigh. Kat brushed her hand over her thighs barely touching the bottom of her skirt just teasing. She looked good and she knew it but she was still embarrassed to commit herself to touching her private areas.
She glanced over to the man sitting next to her. From some polite talking they had done earlier while the flight was first starting she knew he was from Australia and going back home. He had an air of confidence about him that made up for his slightly plain looks. Kat noticed that he was asleep and decided it was a good time to masturbate. His longish brown hair kept attracting her attention though. It was that very dark colour that she liked and it looked so soft. Her hands ached to touch it and feel if it was as soft as it looked. "What is wrong with me? First I am worried about sitting next to a man and masturbating now I am thinking about bringing his attention to me." Kat decided to mind her own business and finish the story. She was immensely turned on by the end of the story and was rubbing her clit slowly trying to tease herself without making herself cum. After a few minutes she finally gave in to the fatigue that had been pulling at her since the plane left two hours before. The stories and the letter laid on her blanket that covered her.

Ehlanna, please remember that I am only going on these first 500 words. I am typing my thoughts as they occur to me. Therefore, some of my comments will be off base. However, also keep in mind that your reader will be starting at the same point I am, so if anything I bring up isn't addressed later in the story, you might want to consider making some changes.

1. I'm only marginally aware of the BDSM lifestyle, so forgive my ignorance, but the letter seems a little wishy-washy for a Master. Jesse seems too considerate for me to take his commands seriously. The exclamation point robs the command of its power. "Yours truly," seems too friendly. Maybe no signature at all would be better. Also, a letter doesn't have presence. Tone, maybe, would be a better word.

Keep the sentences short in the letter. Make them all commands. "Wear only the clothes in this box, nothing else. Masturbate to one of the enclosed stories every hour until the plane touches down. Do not cum or I will be...very unhappy."

Still, this letter opens the story with a bang. There's immediate tension and a question of whether she'll follow through. (Even if the reader sort of assumes she will.)

2. Now sitting on the plane, she was mortified there was only one seat separated herself and a man.

Separating?

3. She wondered to herself, "Can I do this? Can I really sit next to this man and rub my pussy? I have no choice. I gave my word I would obey."

No need for quotes. Try italics to show a character's inner dialogue. Also, this line of thought is a tad too long. I'd do it more like this:

Can I do this? she wondered. Can I really sit next to this man and rub my pussy? But she had no choice but to obey. She'd given her word.

No need to say "to herself," because wondering is always to yourself. When you use inner dialogue, just introduce the first sentence or so as actual thought, and then you'll already have the reader in the mind of the character so the switch back to narrative will be smooth.

4. Covering herself with the blanket she sat back and flipped through the stories noticing they were printed from an internet site but were well chosen with her tastes in mind.

Comma after "stories." Watch the passive voice here. Maybe you could insert the idea that JESSE had chosen the stories and make him the subject of a more active sentence.

5. Her hand had drifted to her thigh. Kat brushed her hand over her thighs barely touching the bottom of her skirt just teasing. She looked good and she knew it but she was still embarrassed to commit herself to touching her private areas.

Thigh, thighs seems repetitive. Comma after "barely" and "skirt." I'm wondering why you talk about her knowing she looked good here. Doesn't seem to have anything to do with the situation. Besides, she's hidden under the blanket.

6. She glanced over to the man sitting next to her. From some polite talking they had done earlier while the flight was first starting she knew he was from Australia and going back home. He had an air of confidence about him that made up for his slightly plain looks. Kat noticed that he was asleep and decided it was a good time to masturbate. His longish brown hair kept attracting her attention though. It was that very dark colour that she liked and it looked so soft. Her hands ached to touch it and feel if it was as soft as it looked.

This section needs some tightening. For example, change "over to" to "at." Change "From some polite talking they had done earlier while the flight was first starting," to "From their earlier conversation." "Making herself cum," could be just "cumming."

The paragraph wanders. You talk about the man. Then about the masturbating. Then you go back to the man. Organize your thoughts. I'd stick with the description (tighten that up too) and then get her back to her task.

7. Perhaps you should tell her destination in the letter so we don't find out in a roundabout way when we encounter the Australian man going home.

8. Replace "laid" with "lay." I know it sounds weird, but it's correct.

9. Remember that for online stories, you don't indent for new paragraphs. You double-space.

10. Finally, I'm intrigued to find out what's going to happen with the mysterious Aussie. I suspect he's going to discover what she's been reading and some naughtiness will ensue. Good for you. Keep the plot moving. Nice start.

I hope this helps.

--

Edited to add: Ehlanna, I admire you for going first. That's tough when you don't know what to expect. I hope it wasn't too brutal.

 

[80niner]

ehlanna. . .
I don’t want to step on Whispersecret’s toes and I apologize to her for cutting in. But I can’t resist. This is what I do best.
I cut the text from 465 words to 384. Always try to cut words on each draft.
There are words that can usually be eliminated and that, almost, really and just are four. You must be ruthless in cutting your own works.
Try to eliminate passive voice and such verbs as was, were or any other form of to be with more active verbs.
sincerely,
80niner

Kat reread the letter:

Kat, Here your plane ticket. It is a long trip. I don’t want you to get bored so I am enclosing some commands and some sexy stories. The clothes I sent with the ticket are the ONLY things you are to wear. Every hour I want you to read a story and masturbate to it. Do not cum or I will be very unhappy! Yours truly, Jesse.

When she received the package and read the letter she was turned on by its commanding presence. Now on the plane, she was mortified. Only one seat separated her and a man. "Can I do this?” she wondered. “Can I sit next to this man and rub my pussy? I have no choice. I gave my word."

When the stewardess came by she asked for a blanket and pillow. Covering herself with the blanket she sat back and flipped through the stories. They were printed from an internet site but were well chosen with her tastes in mind. Reading the first story it didn't take long to find she could touch herself. Her hand drifted to her thigh, barely touching above the hem of her skirt. She looked good and knew it but she felt embarrassed to commit herself to touching her private areas.

She glanced at the man sitting next to her. From some polite talking earlier, she knew he was from Australia and going home. He had an air of confidence that made up for his plain looks. Kat noticed he was sleeping and thought it a good time to masturbate. His longish brown hair attracted her attention. She liked the color and her hands ached to touch it and confirm it was as soft as it looked. "What is wrong with me? First I worried about sitting next to him and masturbating. Now I’m thinking about attracting his attention." Kat decided to mind her own business and finish the story. She was immensely turned on by the end of the story and rubbed her clit slowly, teasing herself without making herself cum. She finally gave in to the fatigue that had pulled at her since the plane left two hours earlier. The stories and the letter lay on the blanket covering her.

 

[Guest]

Me, please!

Ms Secret,

I wrote this for a gay guy who was looking for a story about a heterosexual guy getting forced into gay sex sex by two guys.
---------------------


Tony and Guy, a plumber and his mate, are in Mr. Wheeler’s kitchen, fixing his sink.

His wife is out shopping with their two children, and Wheeler has been left with orders to fix the leaking tap once and for all, before his sister-in-law arrives next weekend.
His wife and kids love him, but they pick on him a bit, because he’s so easy going. He’s also kind of lazy. So instead of fixing the sink, he calls Tony and Guy, who he finds from the Yellow Pages.

Guy leaned against the kitchen counter, playing with a wrench.
Tony stood by the sink and stared at Wheeler, a slight smile playing around his eyes.
“Pretty simple job, buster. You some kind of wuss, can’t even fix a leaking tap? This is gonna cost ya two hundred nuggets before we even start, ya know.”
“I – I’m not very good at this kind of stuff,” Wheeler stammered.
Tony looked over at Guy. “Hear that, Guy? He say’s he ain’t so good at this kind of stuff.”
Guy stood up, still holding the wrench. They were both tall, dressed in dirty blue jeans and black tee shirts with “Tony and Guy Plumbing” printed on them. Guy looked a lot younger, probably about twenty. He had curly blond hair. Tony was Italian looking, and his black hair was slicked back. They were both well-muscled, in stark contrast to the distinctly flabby and paunchy-looking Wheeler.

“I can’t stand wusses,” said Guy.
“Me neither. Look mister, for guys like you we hafta charge extra.”
“What do you mean, ‘charge extra’?” Wheeler was getting anxious. There was something dangerous about these men.
“Guy, show him what we mean, will ya.”
Guy slowly unbuttoned his fly, without taking his eyes off Wheeler. He reached in and pulled out a massive cock. Even though didn’t have a hard-on, it was at least eight inches long. He licked the tip of his dirty and oily index finger and played it around the tip of his helmet, till it was wet.
“Get on your knees, cocksucker and start sucking,” ordered Tony. Wheeler obeyed, too afraid to argue.
Guy pushed his cock into Wheeler’s mouth. He felt it against his tongue and the roof of his mouth, getting harder, pushing itself down his throat like a living snake as it extended, till he gagged.
“Suck, you little fuck,” shouted Guy.
Wheeler sucked.
“Put your hands on my ass. Feel them butt muscles. Do you like it? Do you like my big cock in your mouth, you cocksucking wuss?”
Wheeler nodded, praying his wife and kids wouldn’t come in and see him doing this.
“Mister, you better swallow it all, or there’s a surcharge.”
Guy gave a mighty thrust, and came into Wheelers mouth. Wheeler couldn’t believe how much cum the man spurted. Wave after wave of hot jets hit the back of his throat, and trickled into his stomach as he desperately swallowed, keeping his lips tight in case any spilt.

 

[Whispersecret]

80niner made a great point. When you edit yourself, look for those types of extra words that probably don't need to be there. Try to substitute an active verb for any form of "to be" that occurs. Don't kill yourself eliminating the wases, but be wary of entire paragraphs where "to be" is the only verb.

On my own personal list of words to watch for as I'm revising are: "sort of," "began to," "started to," "seem," and "seemed to." I routinely do a search for those and delete or substitute as needed. Most of the time when I write "seemed to" or "sort of," I'm just being too wimpy to say what I mean.

For example, "The orgasm seemed to burst inside her like a solar flare." "Seemed to" doesn't need to be there at all.

 

[KillerMuffin]

*jumps on the opportunity*

It's only 300ish words right now, but it doesn't feel "right."

She Sang to Me

All I could see was the tip of the knife. There was a gorgeous, naked woman standing between me and the soft light of a lamp and all I could see was the black tip of the knife sticking past her thigh. A cold shiver of fear ran through my nerves; it was almost painful in its intensity.

“You’re afraid.” Her voice was soft and gentle, touching the chill in my heart with its warmth.

I couldn’t say anything. The tip disappeared behind from the space between thighs, but it didn’t matter. I knew it was there.

“You know that I love you,” she said.

The knife was still in my mind. I knew it was black and that it had a skinny blade. It was probably long, too.

“I will never hurt you.”

It was probably sharp. Honed with a stone until the gleaming silver could cut a hair with no effort. Or my skin.

She put her hand on my shoulder, her palm burning into my bare skin. I met her eyes and watched her smile. Something in those warm, brown eyes cut through the image of the knife and I remembered how gentle she always was. An answering smile quivered on my lips. With the sharp edge of my fear gone, I let her guide me onto my back.

I nearly screamed when she put the knife on me, the long, curved blade bisecting my breasts. The steel was cold and as black as my nightmares. The handle was warm and clung to my flesh. I wanted to crawl out from under it, but I couldn’t make myself move. She curled up next to me, wrapping her welcome heat against my side.

Threading her fingers through my hair, she sang to me.

Her voice was husky smooth, like old Kentucky bourbon. A capella, it was gentle and sweet. The Spanish words wove a spell of love and tranquility; they massaged my wounded heart like nothing else could.

 

[Singularity]

Offer Accepted, With Thanks

Here is the preamble to a new work-in-process. Is the introduction intrigueing enough to grab and hold your attention?

Chloe’s Obsession

Scene 1 – Entering the Vortex

From the moment that Chloe steps out of the taxicab in front of the elegant little boutique hotel just off Michigan Avenue in Chicago, it seemed as if every man is looking at her. Men scanning her face, their unabashed, envious gazes roving over her body. Eyes checking out her tits, her ass - sizing up her smile as if measuring her for a blowjob. Staring at her, leering, undressing her with their eyes. Fantasizing about the ripe, young, supple flesh on display - and on the covered, yet not hidden or concealed, parts of her body that telegraphed her openly flaunted sensuality.

Minds racing, trying to think of the perfect pick-up line, something smooth and sophisticated. Something witty and provocative, yet inoffensive. Not seeking the key to her heart, but hungrily craving a taste of her mortal flesh. Anything, any excuse, to get to speak to her, to know her, to seduce her - and to fuck her.

Chloe stands, motionless, on the sidewalk, taking it all in. She feels the hot, wicked, and perverted thoughts emanating from the men milling around her like wolves circling their prey. They radiate their intent like a beam of energy, transmitting their primal heat into Chloe’s luscious young body. Chloe reels from the intensity of the mental fusillade, her mind already drunk with her own passions and cravings. The entire core of her being is vibrating like a tuning fork, vibrating a single, high, pure note of hedonism and lust.

It is like this each and every time. It is nothing at all like what Chloe experiences the rest of the week. This is so special, so unique, so sinful, so wicked. God, how she loves it, how desperately she needs it!

Today, like every Wednesday afternoon, Chloe has come here, come in search of what she has become addicted to, what she thinks about constantly, and what she desperately needs to make it the rest of the way through the week.

As she has each and every Wednesday prior to this, Chloe is dressed like the hot, nubile young woman she is. A woman who is young enough to still be experimenting with her sexuality and discovering new passions and new tastes on the tree of the forbidden fruit; yet a woman confident enough in herself and her body to show it off openly and proudly. A woman mature enough to know that when you find what you are seeking, you seize it and hold it close, even if it did not fit the conventional mores of society or come close to what most people would consider normal.

The doorman opens the ornate, gleaming, steel and glass door to the hotel. The same liveried sentinel who had been there the Wednesday before, and the one before that. His smile and his twice-over look connote recognition. He remembers her from her earlier visits. Chloe wonders if he knows why she is here. “Of course he does,” she tells herself. “I am here for the same reason that many women pass through this entrance.”

Superficially, that is true enough; but Chloe knows with absolute certainty that her real reason for being here is far different from that of most women. She is here for a special purpose, one that would shock and repel most people. Chloe’s needs fall outside the boundaries of convention and propriety. They extend deep into unmapped territory, far beyond the limits of how far most adventurers will travel.

******

Thanks, in advance.

 

[80niner]

Killer Mufin. . .

I took some liberties, cut some words, got rid of most of the to be verbs and chopped some sentences to make them shorter and make those opening paragraphs move. I’d like to see this one when it’s finished.

80 niner

***

I saw the tip of the knife. The naked woman stood between me and the lamp’s soft light. All I saw was the black tip of the knife exposed and visable past her thigh. A cold shiver, painful in its intensity jarred my nerves.

“You’re afraid.” Her voice, soft and gentle, warmed the chill in my heart.

I could not utter a word. The tip disappeared from the space between her thighs. It didn’t matter. I knew it was there.

“You know I love you,” she said.

The knife, I knew, was black and had a skinny blade. It was probably long.

“I’ll never hurt you,” she promised

It would be sharp. Honed on a stone until the gleaming steel could shave a hair without effort. Or pierce my heart.

She placed her hand on my shoulder. Her palm burned my bare skin. I met her eyes as I watched her smile. Those warm, brown eyes cut through the image of the knife. I remembered how gentle she had been. An answering smile quivered on my lips, the sharp edge of my fear gone. I let her guide me onto my back.

I swallowed a scream when she lay the blade on me. The long, curved knife divided my breasts. The steel lay as cold and black as my nightmares while warm handle burned my flesh. I wanted to crawl out from under it, but I could not move. She curled next to me, wrapping her welcome heat against my side.

Threading her fingers through my hair, she sang.

Her voice, like old Kentucky bourbon, crooned husky smooth. A capella, the song emerged gentle and sweet. The Spanish words wove their spell of love and massaged a wounded heart like nothing else could.

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

Whispersecret,

Your sage wisdom, counsel, and advice will be appreciated.

--

Ann's Story
by Rumple Foreskin


"It's just not fair."

From the tone of her friend's voice, Gwen knew Ann was only half-joking. "What's not fair?"

They were in Gwen's dorm room, preparing a supper feast of tuna fish au gratin on rye toast. "It's not fair that you actually met a good-looking single guy under ninety on that geriatric unit disguised as an ophthalmology ward," replied Ann, who was opening a large can of tuna fish.

"And while you're making out with this guy,” she continued, "I'm stuck on a unit with a bunch of old farts who can't pee, and jive doctors who keep coming on to me."

"Don't exaggerate," said Gwen. She was carefully placing slices of rye bread in the combination toaster/broiler which was a fixture of her room. "Mark kissed me, once, that’s all. I promise you we haven't been 'making out.'" She was beginning to wish she hadn’t told Ann about being kissed that afternoon.

"Of course you haven't been." There was blatant skepticism in Ann's voice. "We all know making out with a patient would be incredibly unprofessional, especially for a lowly nursing student. Just tell me this, are you going back to see him?"

"You and I are just Nurse Techs for the summer, remember? So if I'm assigned to his room, I’ll go back."

"And you're always assigned to his room, right?"

"Well, okay, I usually am," conceded Gwen. She pulled out the toast and began spreading on mayonnaise.

"Which means you'll be going back. And when you do go back, you two will end up kissing again.”

Gwen tried to ignore the tiny quiver in her stomach. The problem was, her friend might be right. At the moment however, Ann's logic was not what she wanted to consider so she changed the subject. "What's wrong with these doctors who keep making passes at you? Are they married or creeps or what?"

"Oh, they're no creepier than most other doctors, I suppose," said Ann while piling tuna fish on two pieces of rye toast. "And I think one is single. The problem is, they're all white. And you know how I feel about dating white guys."

After positioning cheese slices on top of the tuna, Gwen placed the concoction back in the toaster oven. Turning around, she gave her friend a concerned look. "You've mentioned that before, about not dating white guys, but you've never said why. I mean it's none of my business. It’s just that Robin, Sue, and I are white; and we're your friends, aren't we?"

"True, but the last time I checked, I'm not dating any of you. Although with the luck I've been having lately with dudes, you're beginning to look better and better, child," said Ann, giving Gwen a lascivious grin.

"Get away from me, you deviant," laughed Gwen, waving a mayonnaise covered dinner knife in Ann's direction. "My mama warned me about girls like you."

--

 

[Whispersecret]

Route66Girl

Teenagers hate their hometowns. They look around and all they want is what’s not there.

“This town is so lame.”

How true.

I must have uttered those words at least a hundred times as I was growing up in Kent River. It was a typical small town. Not much happened there.

Even the surrounding countryside seemed dull, as there was nothing but farmland. And only miles of lava rock fields and barren hills hemmed in those acres of potato farms.

I'd link these two paragraphs. It's all the same subject.

It took a long time to really appreciate where I came from. I was twenty-three years old the early summer morning that it finally dawned on me how beautiful that country really is.

Nice hook. I want to see what happened to cause the epiphany.

I was naked, the smell of sex still clinging to me. Propped up on my elbows, I lay back halfway on a scratchy wool blanket that had proven to be less comfortable than the ground we’d thrown it down on. Didn’t matter. I loved every sensation. I burrowed my feet into the soft dirt, wriggling my toes. Felt good. The smell of the earth flooded my senses, and the only sound that broke the silence was the soft chirping of a few nearby crickets.

It was still dark enough that stars filled most of the sky, but it must have been around four in the morning. The eastern horizon was taking on the telltale bluish glow of dawn.

This is terrific. Your casual style shines through with the fragments. I hope it continues throughout the story. The scene is beautifully set here. Phrases I especially liked: "the smell of sex still clinging to me," "telltale bluish glow of dawn."

"less comfortable than the ground we'd thrown it down on." This phrase seems awkward. I'd reword it. Also, you use "smell" twice in that paragraph.

About fifteen feet away from me, leaning up against his Harley, was Cole Jones. He was only a year or two older than I, but always had the demeanor of someone older than his years, even when I first knew him at age twelve. It’s difficult to say exactly why he seemed older. Maybe it was his voice, which was so low and gravelly… edgy. Or maybe it was his hair, at the time shoulder-length, which was so shock-blond that it almost looked white. Perhaps it was his eyes- a light, ice blue with a haunted glint in them that told you they’d seen far too much for someone so young.

Cole had never been tall, nor was he bulky. But his naked, wiry frame made an impressive silhouette against the sky that early morning. It was too dark yet to see his face at that distance - only the burning tip of a cigarette periodically lit up his features when he took a drag.

He leaned against the motorcycle in silence. I was quiet as well.

Again, this is just wonderful. I can see, smell, taste, feel it all. I am THERE. Great job. Love the cig sentence.

I don’t remember now, six years later, how that night started out. Had we gone out to dinner? Was that the day we’d taken his nephew and my niece out to see The Lion King? I remember that it was the first time I’d seen him in a long time. I’d just come back from… which place? Utah? Oregon? Wyoming?

I suppose it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that every time I’ve had one chapter in my life end and another begin, Cole Jones was there, suspended in limbo along with me.

That night, I’d clung fast to him as he drove out along the country roads, both of us thinking we knew how the night would end.

All right, here I'd cut a bunch of sentences. I don't feel they add much and make me want to scan. I'd go straight from "I don't remember, six years later, how that night started out." to "I suppose it doesn’t matter."

The next sentence is key, obviously, to your story, but I don't think it belongs here.

I don’t know what time it was when he pulled over and we stepped off the bike. I just remember how beautiful the night seemed, how peaceful it felt. I don’t remember, either, if we even spoke before he kissed me.

Sometimes repetition is a nice device, but it's not working for me here. There's so much that you don't remember or don't know, and it's bugging me a little. Maybe it just needs some juggling. Or, perhaps "Sometime after midnight, he pulled over..." or something like that would work here.

Get rid of "just." It's not necessary.

The gist of the last sentence is great. Damned if I don't want to be you.

To sum up, most of this is terrific. The stuff I pointed out was really picky shit. Great job.

 

[the_bragis]

Thank you.

Thank you for your kind offer. This is my latest story. Some of my earlier work is pretty shabby, however, I think with help I'm improving. I am extremely grateful to have found two people to edit my work now.

Although this is bdsm story, I like to feel it is more about power than pain.

The following has been kindly edited by sub joe.

Dominique

"Hold all my calls for the next hour please, Alex. I need to catch up on a few things. Oh, and get me a coffee will you doll, and a sandwich too."

Wendel Kerr was a busy man. Working as director of one of the largest merchant banks in the city, he was always busy and under a lot of stress. Today was no different. His mind was racing as he flicked though the papers on his secretary's desk, before bundling them up and walking towards his office. He was still deep in concentration reading the first page as he closed the door behind him.

"Don't say a word slutboy, and no one gets hurt," a sultry voice behind him purred.

Immediately he dropped the papers, but before he had a chance to pick them up or turn around, a leather clad hand had gripped firmly over his mouth, and another had slipped around in front of him and was grasping his crotch.

The familiar sweet smell of a woman's scent combined with that of leather filled him. He began to feel his heart pounding faster.
As the hand dropped from his mouth, a single word slipped from Wendel's lips, "Dominique."

"You spoke," the voice whispered, with a certain smugness. "Now someone gets hurt."

Dominique. How that name sent a shiver excitement through Wendel. Beautiful, intelligent, and all mighty Dominique. The one woman who consumed his darkest and most private thoughts, and controlled him like no other.

Rarely did she call to let him know she would be coming to visit, preferring to just turn up. On a number of occasions her visits had been quite inconvenient, but how could he possibly refuse her? Of course he couldn't. If he did, she may choose not to come again, and he simply couldn't risk that.

They had met several months earlier at a corporate cocktail party. He hadn't noticed her at first. Sure, she was beautiful looking, but Wendel was used to being in the company of very attractive women. It wasn't until after she had had formally introduced herself that he had realized; Dominique was unlike any other woman he had ever met before.

"Hello Wendel, I'm so pleased to meet you," she had said, smiling warmly and extending her hand out to him, but instead of letting him shake it, she had dropped it and let her fingers slide down between his thighs instead. The incident had shocked him at the time, and he had been unsure of what to do. His cock however, had been way ahead of him. His cock had known exactly how to react. It had jerked to attention immediately, and remaining hard until eventually he was able to slip out into the bathroom to relieve himself.

In the months that had followed, he was to learn just how different Dominique really was.

Unlike my story... please be gentle.

Have a great day,

Alex (fem)

 

[Alex De Kok]

This is an opportunity not to be missed!

So here goes. This is the start of a piece written for Survivor.

* * * * *

It was my Aunt Jacqueline’s idea to go to the cabin.

I was stuck in a wheelchair at the time; the legacy of a mountain-biking accident. I wouldn’t have minded so much, but I was winning the race. A root I hadn’t spotted caught my pedal and the next thing I knew I was in hospital with both legs broken below the knee, assorted contusions and abrasions and a headache which would have been a lot worse had it not been for my helmet. They showed me the helmet, split in half by the rock I’d hit.

Once I was home, it wasn’t too bad, but with a younger brother and two sisters there wasn’t a lot of room for me in a wheelchair. I could get around on crutches, but my legs ached after a while and the wheelchair was the better option.

Aunt Jacqui had just been divorced. Her husband had taken up with his secretary and Jacqui had caught them balling in her bed. Harry – I refuse to call him Uncle – must be an idiot to lose someone like my Aunt Jacqui. She’s my Mom’s youngest sister, she’s got the warmest smile of anyone I know and I’m always glad to see her. She was visiting with us for a few days, so she got my bedroom and I bunked in with my brother Joe for the duration. Jacqui hadn’t heard about my accident and was horrified when I recounted the details. Well, those I could remember.

She shook her head when I finished my account. “I think you’re lucky to be alive, Tom, never mind two broken legs.”

“It wasn’t that bad, Aunt Jacqui. The organisers always have good medical assistance at a race meeting.” I grinned. “Anyhow, everybody is running around after me at the moment.”

She laughed. “I feel guilty about putting you out of your room.”

I smiled at her. “Always glad to do it for you, Aunt Jacqui.”

She squeezed my hand. “Thanks, sweetie.” She stood. “I’m gonna go find your Mom. I have an idea which might make life a little easier.”

I found out about her idea over supper. Dad was home from work by then and he and Mom, Aunt Jacqui and I were sitting around the kitchen table. Joe and the twins were watching TV in the family room down in the basement.

“You know I got the cabin at Green Lake as part of my divorce settlement?”

We nodded.

“I’ve had a generator installed for electricity, so it’s quite comfortable. I’m taking my computer up there and going to try writing again. I thought that while Tom is mending, he could keep me company. The cabin’s all on one level, so the wheelchair’s not a problem once Tom’s indoors. Jim, if you’d come up with us and rig a ramp at the end of the porch, he could get himself around quite easily.”

* * * * *

That's the first page in Word. 486 words. Looking forward to my fate with equanimity!

Alex

 

[80niner]

Route 66 Girl. . .

Whispersecret did a nice job of critiquing your story but I have to get my nit-picking two cents in and cut a little over 100 words. My suggestion is that you download this and print it out. I f you approve, try to figure out why I did what I did. If you don’t, tell me to go to hell and to mind my own business.

80niner

565 words
cut to
453 words


Teenagers hate their hometowns. They look around and want what’s not there.

“This town is so lame.”

I uttered those words a hundred times while growing up in the typical small town of Kent River. Nothing ever happened there.

The surrounding countryside had nothing but farmland, miles of lava rock fields and barren hills hemmed in by acres of potatoes.

It took a long time to appreciate where I came from. I was twenty-three years the early summer morning it finally dawned on me how beautiful that country is.

I was naked, the smell of sex still clinging to me. Propped back on my elbows, I lay a scratchy wool blanket that had proven to be less comfortable than the ground. Didn’t matter. I loved every sensation. I burrowed my feet and wriggled my toes in the soft dirt. Felt good. The smell of the earth flooded my senses. Only the soft chirping of a few nearby crickets broke the silence.

Though dark enough for stars to fill most of the sky at four in the morning, the eastern horizon merged into the telltale bluish glow of dawn.

Fifteen feet away, leaning against his Harley, Cole Jones was only a year or two older than me, but he had the demeanor of someone years older. It is difficult to say exactly why. Maybe it was his voice, low and gravely. Maybe it was his shoulder-length hair which was so shock-blond it almost looked white. Perhaps it was his ice-blue eyes with that haunted glint that reminded you they’d seen too much for one so young.

Cole was never tall, or bulky but his naked, wiry frame made an impressive silhouette against the sky that morning. It was too dark to see his face until the tip of his cigarette intermittently highlighted his features when he took a drag.

He leaned against the motorcycle in silence.

I don’t remember, six years later, how that night began. Had we gone out dinner? Was that the day we took his nephew and my niece to see The Lion King? I remember it was the first time I’d seen him in a long time. I’d just come back from. . . someplace? Utah? Oregon? Wyoming?

It doesn’t matter. What matters is. . . every time I’ve had one chapter in my life end and another begin, Cole Jones was with me.

That night, I’d clung to him as we rode the country roads, both thinking we knew how the night would end.

I don’t know the time when he pulled over and we stepped off the bike. I only remember how beautiful the night seemed, how peaceful it felt. I don’t remember if we spoke before he kissed me.

 

[Whispersecret]

Hey, 80niner, buddy, when you say you can't resist, you really mean it! LOL.

No offense, but maybe if the urge to edit is that strong in you, you should consider heading up a thread just for your story tightening services. The poor souls who subject themselves to my scrutiny may not be up to any additional unsolicited "punishment."

 

[80niner]

Hey, Whispersecret. . .

Sorry I stepped on your thread.

Hope I didn't bruise any tender psyches.

I just like trying to make good writing better.

80niner

 

[Candy_Apple]

Camping

I started this story a little while ago and I don't know where to take it. I'll thank you in advance for helping Thankyou!



It was Becky’s idea to go camping. She planned the entire thing for Alicia’s eighteenth birthday and her own birthday the day after. They were to go hiking up mountains, trekking through the bush and they would take all their supplies and their tent in their packs.
Becky drove them up to their starting point in her 4WD, parked it next to a public toilet and started getting the packs out of the boot. Whilst she was bending over she received a slap on the ass from Alicia who then whispered in her ear, “I can’t wait till tonight when I’m going to eat your pussy.”
Flustered by what Alicia had said but also extremely aroused, Becky turned around and gave her a passionate kiss on her mouth.

And so they started the trek.

“Baby, I’m tired already,” moaned Alicia, “Can’t we just camp here?”
“If we camp here our tent will be blown away. Just another ten minutes and we’ll be at the first clearing,” replied Becky.
“You said that ten minutes ago,” mumbled Alicia, whose real reason to stop walking was not from tiredness but because being near Becky always made her horny. All she wanted to do was to rip off Becky’s clothes, lay her on the ground, climb on top of her in the 69 position and tease her clit with her tongue. Was that too much to ask for?

Half an hour later the two girls sat in their erected tent, completely exhausted. Becky stripped off her sweaty clothes and started to climb into her sleeping bag when Alicia grabbed her arm,
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m tired Ally, can’t we wait till tomorrow morning?” sighed Becky.
Alicia released Becky and seemed to agree. Stripping off her clothes she climbed into Becky’s sleeping bag behind her and pressed her breasts against her back. She wrapped her arms around Becky’s waist.
Becky tried to get to sleep but Alicia’s presence was becoming too much for her. The moistness between her legs grew unbearable and her mind was thinking of all the things she would love to do to her friend.
Groaning Becky rolled over and kissed Alicia full on the lips. Alicia grinned, pulled Becky out of the sleeping bag and stood her up – admiring her slender and sensual body. Licking her lips Alicia bent down and lightly kissed Becky’s breast. She circled her areola with her tongue, teasing her. Becky moaned with pleasure and she succumbed to Alicia.
Alicia then planted light feathery kisses all down Becky’s body, moving in circles always downwards until she arrived just above her clitoris. Alicia grabbed Becky’s ass and pulled her pussy towards her until it was inches from her face. Becky squealed as she could feel Alicia’s panting on her pussy and it filled her with desire.
“Please…” whispered Becky,
“Please what?” teased Alicia,
“Please make love to me with your…”but Becky couldn’t finish because Alicia had started sucking on her clitoris. Becky gasped and grabbed onto Alicia’s head for support, moaning in pleasure. Alicia thrust two fingers into Becky’s pussy and rubbed her G-spot. Becky screamed and came hard, her eyes watering. She looked down at Alicia who grinned up at Becky. Alicia’s face was covered in Becky’s cum.
“Had enough?” asked Alicia.
Becky shook her head. Alicia laid her down on the ground, lay next to her, and gently kissed her whilst tracing around her nipples lightly with her fingertips. Becky kissed Alicia, savoring the taste of her own cum on Becky’s lips. Rolling Alicia off her…

 

[Phoenix646]

This story is based off of a cartoon, X-Men Evolution.

second part to a series of fic, here's the first part

http://www.greyarchive.com/phoenix1.html

This is the sequel and im kinda stuck and haven't had much luck with comment, criticisms and suggestions.


It had been a week since Rogue and Scott’s “encounter.” All of the students finished their finales and the seniors finally graduated from high school. In honor of the recent events, the headmaster of the School for the Gifted, Professor Charles Xavier decided to throw a party for the young mutants. And with a pool located behind the mansion what better party, then a pool party. The instructors were preparing food, while most of the students were lounging around the pool. Being young and free of school, the young mutants were defiantly enjoying themselves in the company of each other.

However, Rogue being the gothic recluse that she was, isolated herself from the group. She laid herself down on a lawn chair and tried to stay as far away from her peers. Especially while wearing a bathing suit, Rogue normally isolate herself like this due to her powers. She always feared that someone might accidentally touch her and possibly hurt that person. However, Rogue had just recently discovered that she could control her absorption powers. Only Kitty and Scott knew of Rogue’s control and for the moment, she decided to keep it that way. Hold habits die hard and Rogue enjoyed being by herself.

As she was lying out, trying desperately to get a tan, she occasionally caught some of he boys looking at her.

“Ya know,” Rogue thought “For a girl who isn’t all that popular, ah sure do get gawked at a lot.”

With new confidence about herself, Rogue decided to wear a very small black and purple bikini. The bikini was perfect at showing off Rogue’s wonderful features. Her smooth pale white legs led up to her firm and toned stomach. These two attributes alone would drive most pubescent boys to madness. However nothing compared to her ample chest. Needless to say Rogue’s breast were much too large for the material to cover.

“Maybe sporting all this cleavage wasn’t such a good idea,” she thought to herself. “Tha guys are practically tripping over their tongues.”

Trying to dismiss the gawkers, she gently put down her sunglasses and her head drifted to one side as she tried to relax in the cool sunlight. Her mind wandered to a variety of things. However one thing stood out above the rest, her little…“encounter” with Scott. The past week, it had been the only thing she gave thought to. Just the thought of having him in her mouth again sent shivers down her spine. As she immersed herself with images of Scott’s member, an unnoticed shadow snuck up on Rogue.
“Hey, like, why don’t you put those things away?”

Rogue tilted her head. Through her shades, she noticed a short and thin brunette girl standing in front of her.

“What was that Kitty?’ Rogue asked.

“Your boobs, why don’t you put them away before one of they guys pass out from lack of blood flow to the head.”

“Your just jealous that you can’t flaunt your boobs like I can,” the sassy gothic girl snapped back.



Well that's 500, i have more but you only wanted 500. I plan on having Rogue hook up with a girl called Jean Grey. They hate each other, one reason is cause Jean is miss popular and miss perfect, and because Scott (Rogue crush) is in love with Jean. Despite their hate for each i would still like them to hook up, it would be a love/hate relationship.

Thanks for any help you give.

 

[Whispersecret]

Flash Boy

Before I start in on Flash Boy, I wanted to say you're welcome to Ehlanna. She thanked me via PM. I appreciate the acknowledgement. Hint hint.

--

Tony and Guy, a plumber and his mate, are in Mr. Wheeler’s kitchen, fixing his sink.

His wife is out shopping with their two children, and Wheeler has been left with orders to fix the leaking tap once and for all, before his sister-in-law arrives next weekend.
His wife and kids love him, but they pick on him a bit, because he’s so easy going. He’s also kind of lazy. So instead of fixing the sink, he calls Tony and Guy, who he finds from the Yellow Pages.

Flash, I'm not sure if the above passage is just a set-up for me, or part of the actual story. I'm going to assume the latter.

You should keep your story all in one tense. Here you start out with present tense--everything happening as we read it, and then you switch to past tense. I HIGHLY recommend past tense for novice writers.

I suggest that you rewrite this beginning. The old adage, "Show, don't tell," applies here. You TELL us he's lazy, that he's picked on, etc. It's almost always better to SHOW us that instead. Show us the actual discussion between Wheeler and his wife, that way we can see him getting picked on. When he decides to look up a plumber in the Yellow Pages, you can SHOW him being lazy by his actions and thoughts. You'll find your story is much more dynamic if you resist the urge to tell the story like you're sitting around a campfire.

Then perhaps have a scene break (triple space or put *** or something like that to indicate a scene change) if you're going to go directly to the plumbers being there.

Guy leaned against the kitchen counter, playing with a wrench.
Tony stood by the sink and stared at Wheeler, a slight smile playing around his eyes.

“Pretty simple job, buster. You some kind of wuss, can’t even fix a leaking tap? This is gonna cost ya two hundred nuggets before we even start, ya know.”

It's unclear who's speaking here. Add a tag to clarify the speaker. If it's Guy:

Guy leaned against the kitchen counter, playing with a wrench. “Pretty simple job, buster. You some kind of wuss, can’t even fix a leaking tap? This is gonna cost ya two hundred nuggets before we even start, ya know.”

Not sure a smile can play around eyes...

“I – I’m not very good at this kind of stuff,” Wheeler stammered.
Tony looked over at Guy. “Hear that, Guy? He say’s he ain’t so good at this kind of stuff.”
Guy stood up, still holding the wrench. They were both tall, dressed in dirty blue jeans and black tee shirts with “Tony and Guy Plumbing” printed on them. Guy looked a lot younger, probably about twenty. He had curly blond hair. Tony was Italian looking, and his black hair was slicked back. They were both well-muscled, in stark contrast to the distinctly flabby and paunchy-looking Wheeler.

I thought Guy WAS standing. Perhaps "straightened."

Try to put more umph into your physical descriptions. Active verbs can work well. For example:

Guy looked younger than Tony, probably about twenty. Blond hair curled over his ears and neck and dusted his forearms. Tony, on the other hand, reminded Wheeler of a stereo-typical mobster with his slicked back hair and heavy Bronx accent. Compared to their well-muscled physiques, Wheeler felt embarrassed about his paunch.

“I can’t stand wusses,” said Guy.
“Me neither. Look mister, for guys like you we hafta charge extra.”

Comma after "Look."

Nice job with the accents.

“What do you mean, ‘charge extra’?” Wheeler was getting anxious. There was something dangerous about these men.

Strive for active verbs. See if you can substitute the wases with something else. For example, make "anxiety" the subject of the sentence. Show us through Wheeler's eyes what makes the two men seem dangerous. Something in their eyes? The looks they keep exchanging? SHOW, DON't TELL.

“Guy, show him what we mean, will ya.”
Guy slowly unbuttoned his fly, without taking his eyes off Wheeler. He reached in and pulled out a massive cock. Even though didn’t have a hard-on, it was at least eight inches long. He licked the tip of his dirty and oily index finger and played it around the tip of his helmet, till it was wet.
“Get on your knees, cocksucker and start sucking,” ordered Tony.

Nice description of the cock. Take out that last comma and substitute "until" for "till." Good choice of verbs in "licked" and "played," but how about "glistened," instead of "was wet?"

Wheeler obeyed, too afraid to argue.

You're missing a great opportunity to up the Hot Factor here. SHOW us what Wheeler is thinking here. Tell us how his body is reacting (sweating, shaking, butterflies in stomach, whatever) and what thoughts are going through his mind. You're aiming for a non-consentual situation, and fans of this type enjoy experiencing that helplessness, so milk it.

Guy pushed his cock into Wheeler’s mouth. He felt it against his tongue and the roof of his mouth, getting harder, pushing itself down his throat like a living snake as it extended, till he gagged.

Even though it's obvious that the "he" you refer to is Wheeler, that pronoun is still ambiguous. There are three guys here. It's tricky to keep them straight. Don't be afraid to use their names or some other descriptor (like "the blond") if you think a reader might get confused.

The living snake comparison is great, but you push this sentence just a tad too long, making it awkward. Here's what I'd suggest:

As Guy pushed his cock inside, Wheeler felt hardening against his tongue and the roof of his mouth. With every surge of blood, it pushed itself down his throat like a living snake, extending until he gagged.


Also, again, milk the scene for all it's worth. Explain what's going through Wheeler's mind. Has he sucked a man before? Is this distasteful or exciting? Has he always wondered what it would be like? Etc. When you describe the character's thoughts and feelings and reactions, you invite the reader to share and live in the story, instead of just witnessing it.

What's Wheeler doing? Is he pushing against Guy's hips to keep him from thrusting too hard? And what's Tony doing? What sounds can be heard? What smells?

“Suck, you little fuck,” shouted Guy.
Wheeler sucked.
“Put your hands on my ass. Feel them butt muscles. Do you like it? Do you like my big cock in your mouth, you cocksucking wuss?”
Wheeler nodded, praying his wife and kids wouldn’t come in and see him doing this.

I want to see what Wheeler's reaction is to this dirty talk. You're dabbling with his reactions in that prayer about his wife. That's exactly what I'm talking about, but to make the scene really POP, you need to go farther.

“Mister, you better swallow it all, or there’s a surcharge.”
Guy gave a mighty thrust, and came into Wheelers mouth. Wheeler couldn’t believe how much cum the man spurted. Wave after wave of hot jets hit the back of his throat, and trickled into his stomach as he desperately swallowed, keeping his lips tight in case any spilt.

What about "Pussy," instead of "Mister?" That seems to keep more with the abusive attitude of the plumbers.

Perhaps you want to have Guy hold Wheeler's head still while he comes?

Should be "Wheeler's" instead of "Wheelers" to show possession.

The last sentence, again, is a tad too long and awkward. Split it into two. Describe the taste, perhaps any sounds Guy makes as he comes, the disgust/satisfaction that Wheeler experiences. Perhaps he's wondering if Tony's going to take a turn too...

Don't forget to double space between paragraphs.

You've got a good start here, you just need to expand. No need to get too verbose, but in my opinion your descriptions need more umph. It's like I'm watching the scene through thick plexiglass with sunglasses on. I want to be IN THE ROOM with them. I want to see, smell, taste, feel, hear what they're hearing. That's what's going to get the reader excited.

I hope this helps!

 

[ladyphoenix]

Throwing my hat in the ring...

Thanks for the kind offer...I probably went over a bit on word count, but wanted to end it far enough in so you got the jist of what's going to happen. I've been working on this for a bit, and would like to know what someone else thinks. THANKS!!



WARRIOR



The lady paced.
Back and forth, her path generally straight and clearly purposeful, she tried with all that was within her to distance herself from the fear. But pacing, while a fine use of energy, was a poor method of travel, serving no purpose other than to increase her agitation. Sometime after midday she broke stride, retreating to a chair. When she was fully disenchanted with the chair, she fussed at the fine, fresh linen cloth Aggie had laid upon the little dining table in the chamber. When the cloth was as straight as she was certain physics would allow, she went about smoothing her skirts, taking her hair down, combing it fully, re-pinning it upon her head, and polishing her mother’s pretty gold pin before fixing it between her breasts. When she was as certain of her appearance as it was possible to be, she stood at the southern window, looking out at the land in the opposite direction of that from which he would come.
Three passed, and four, and Aggie brought tea and biscuits and rich clotted cream. Mercy glared at the old woman, and for her trouble in reply received only the sound of a tsking tongue, as if she were no better than some troublesome foundling.
“Dinna fret, luvey,” she chuckled in her own mix of native English and the Scottish she picked up here and there from the staff she managed.
Tossing her head as if she had no care in the world, Mercy crossed her arms over her bosom. “What have I to fret over?” she snipped. The heavy ring of keys that Aggie normally kept loosely fixed to her skirts, Mercy noted with some discouragement, were affixed to it this evening with the devil’s own grip of knots. Setting her jaw, Mercy considered overpowering her much shorter, much older and much slower jailer and simply running off for parts unknown, but Aggie was hardly stupid. She no doubt had guards posted every ten steps down the tower stairs, in case her charge should attempt such a thing.
“Oh not a thing to worry you, then?” Aggie teased with a wry smile. She caught a quick glimpse of Mercy’s jaw tightening. Her young lady had a look in her eye now that made her think of horses set upon in some small space by raging fire. Trapped and wild. “Happy to know my girl’s not about to stir the house by runnin’. T’would set your father’s heart in a fine gallop.”
Mercy rushed across the room toward her jailer and that blessed ring of freedom in the keys, but could not bring herself to try to change the course of fate. Instead of taking her freedom she flopped down into a stiff-backed chair, staring at the fire.
“Yes, yes, old woman,” she hissed. “I know that my father would near curl into a nutshell and die a painful death were I not to do my duty. He and his eternally galloping heart. God’s teeth!”
Aggie straightened, hands on her narrow hips as she gave Mercy a good staring down. “No ‘Dear Aggie’ this night, or ‘Mother Aggie’, but ‘old woman’? So it shall be, Missy Mercy. I shall have to tell the young lord that his bride has a foul mood about her. Perhaps that will purchase you a night or two, eh? And make the waiting a greater burden still.”
Ignoring the nickname she hated, Mercy grabbed at the curled lion’s claws of the arms of the chair, looking up in panic. “He’s here, then?”
Aggie took some pity on the girl. “Nay, child. Nary a glimpse nor a whisper from the watch, but tonight was set for his coming, I am well certain of that.” Moving to the side of the chair, she cupped Mercy’s face in her well wrinkled hands. “Dinna fret, child. The young lord is a good man they say, and well heeled, now his uncle’s gone to perdition.”
Hating the way her voice shook, Mercy gazed up at her beloved Aggie in tearful pride. “I cannot bear it, surely. I wish that it were my heart galloping and stammering, Aggie dear, and not father’s, for I would rather die than do this thing.”
Sighing, Aggie patted the girl’s face again before giving her a reassuring smile and shuffling to the fire to set it burning high again. Mercy, as it was always her custom, came quickly to her side to get the heavier wood, but Aggie was glad to see she took care to keep the thick skirts of her new gown fresh from the ashes and dirt.
“Child, ‘tis not such a bad thing, marriage.”
“So quick to say it, when you have never gone to the vows yourself,” Mercy teased back.
Aggie chuckled. “Aye, child, I have not. But ‘twas not because I thought it beneath me.”
Mercy shoved a last, large chunk of wood into the fire where Aggie pointed the poker then stood, brushing the dirt from her hands. “I do not think marriage beneath me,” she countered. “It is only men who are beneath me.”
Laughing, Aggie stirred the fire to wild, blazing life before putting the poker back in its place. “Mayhap,” she quipped sharply, “You shall quite enjoy having one beneath you.”
Turning from halfway to the window, Mercy gasped at the meaning of the old woman’s jibe. She knew, as she supposed all women knew, that they were to lie beneath their husbands in the marriage bed. But she had never even considered that the man might....

 

[Whispersecret]

Killermuffin

Most of this critique is picky shit, KM. The mood is menacing and smooth, like a panther. Nice. I'm immediately curious about their past relationship and why it has changed tonight.

All I could see was the tip of the knife. There was a gorgeous, naked woman standing between me and the soft light of a lamp and all I could see was the black tip of the knife sticking past her thigh. A cold shiver of fear ran through my nerves; it was almost painful in its intensity.

"THere was" -- Change this. You know why.

Maybe change "and" to "but," to emphasize the hypnotic sight of the knife.

The descr. of the knife is vague enough so that I'm not sure if she's been stabbed or not. Is this on purpose? Maybe it's the word "sticking."

Not sure if a "shiver" can "run through" nerves.

“You’re afraid.” Her voice was soft and gentle, touching the chill in my heart with its warmth.

Not sure about "touching." It's vague.

I couldn’t say anything. The tip disappeared behind from the space between thighs, but it didn’t matter. I knew it was there.

Maybe "knife tip" or "blade?"

Are you missing a word before thighs?

“You know that I love you,” she said.

The knife was still in my mind. I knew it was black and that it had a skinny blade. It was probably long, too.

“I will never hurt you.”

It was probably sharp. Honed with a stone until the gleaming silver could cut a hair with no effort. Or my skin.

The rhythm of this passage is good. Goes between the reassurance of her words and the knowledge of the dangerous knife. "Honed with a stone" sounds a little Dr. Seussish to me. I'd replace thin with skinny. Skinny sounds a little too light and airy to me. Maybe narrow? I dunno.

It's gleaming silver? I thought it was black.

She put her hand on my shoulder, her palm burning into my bare skin. I met her eyes and watched her smile. Something in those warm, brown eyes cut through the image of the knife and I remembered how gentle she always was. An answering smile quivered on my lips. With the sharp edge of my fear gone, I let her guide me onto my back.

I'd take out "into" in the first sent.

I see why you chose "cut," but it doesn't quite work for me. I think you're pushing the knife imagery a little too far.

I nearly screamed when she put the knife on me, the long, curved blade bisecting my breasts. The steel was cold and as black as my nightmares. The handle was warm and clung to my flesh. I wanted to crawl out from under it, but I couldn’t make myself move. She curled up next to me, wrapping her welcome heat against my side.

WHOA. It's a girl! For some reason, I assumed the narrator was a male. Was it because the narrator described the her as "gorgeous and naked?" Maybe it's because I'm hetero... I don't know why I made that assumption. Maybe you should try to insert some clue earlier that the narrator is female.

I'd reword sent. #2 like this: The steel (wasn't it silver before?) was cold and black, like my nightmares. Nice simile, though!

Threading her fingers through my hair, she sang to me.

Her voice was husky smooth, like old Kentucky bourbon. A capella, it was gentle and sweet. The Spanish words wove a spell of love and tranquility; they massaged my wounded heart like nothing else could.

I think I've read this (spot on, by the way) comparison to bourbon from you before, maybe in a poem?

You've got two wases in a row there...

To sum up, nice work, of course. Your voice is very recognizable, at least to me. That's a good thing. I think the knife language is a tad heavy-handed, but like I said, most of what I pointed out is picky shit. That's what I do best. Nit-pick.

Hope this was helpful.

 

[Whispersecret]

Hey, everyone, is this working? I want this thread to help more than just the individual writers. In other words, I hope that Ehlanna will get something from, not just her personal critique, but all the others as well. (I only picked her name because she was the guinea pig.)

Also, I'm a reasonable gal, and, I think, easy to talk to. I'm more than willing to enter a discussion about any of the comments I make, even if it's not your story. I don't want to come across as a "THIS IS THE LAW AND DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT CROSSING ME" person. Most of what I say here will be my *semi-unprofessional opinion. I'm more knowledgable about writing than some, but not as much as others.

*I did receive a flat payment for my contribution to the Literotica Anthology, but that's the extent of my paid publishing credit to date.

 

[Guest]

I want this thread to help more than just the individual writers. In other words...

Yes, for me it is very good, and I am extremely appreciative.

I read lots of feedback of other people's stories, especially those given by the more experienced writers.

Much of what I have learnt since coming here has been by reading critiques, rather than stories. I find it's a excellent learning tool.

Many times I think u-oh, that's what I've been doing, or, yes that's good advice, I should do that too.

Well have a great day,

Alex(fem)

 

[KillerMuffin]

Thanks WS! That actually helps a lot! The first impressions are the most important. I'm trying to write something noirish where the knife is almost the antagonist because "I" is so preoccupied with it.

I need to clear up the color things. Almost all knives are shiny where the blade is sharpened. The black matting is something that's applied, not a part of the color of the blade. I need to make that clear. I also think that I should make the gender of "I" abundantly clear from the beginning. Or at least from the end of paragraph one.

I was hoping the tone was coming through and that it wasn't too jerky or unbalanced to read.

I really do intend to edit this piece, actually.